


Blackout

by Katastrophe94



Series: Stories Written in Ink [3]
Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: 2d Bendy AU, Angst, Body Horror, Gen, Henry's having a bad day, Hurt/Comfort, Thanks for the plot bunnies Zango
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-19
Updated: 2017-06-19
Packaged: 2018-11-16 05:26:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11247222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katastrophe94/pseuds/Katastrophe94
Summary: Henry thinks he's seen it all in this studio. He turns out to be very, very wrong.





	Blackout

**Author's Note:**

> Heeeeey. Another 2D Bendy thing, courtesy of the recent art dump Zango did on her stream! Including one particularly interesting bit on an Ink monster version of Henry. :3
> 
> With that said, enjoy!~
> 
> EDIT: This now belongs to themarginalartist on tumblr! Check em' out! - https://themarginalartist.tumblr.com/

It started with a cough.

Nothing major. Nothing even to truly worry about. Just a persistent little itch at the back of his throat, one that every now and again needed a scratch. Henry had swallowed so much ink at this point, it’s a wonder he hadn’t gotten sicker sooner.

Bendy worried, as usual. With every fresh cough, a soft inquiry would be given if Henry needed to stop for a little while. He’d always smiled in return, saying it was fine, just a cold most likely. He’d get over it soon enough. He always had.

That was before the pain started.

It was small at first, too. No more noticeable than the aches in his joints and the soreness in his limbs. But then it grew sharper. Hot, needling pinpricks over his skin, ones that probed deeper and deeper the longer they traversed through the studio, burrowing in his flesh like thorns. And the _heat_ . . . it came suddenly, percolating down to his bones, making everything feel ten times hotter than it should, sweat quick to gather at his brow. Water was already hard to come by, losing it was dangerous . . .

Now, Henry felt like he was walking through a mire, the ink at his ankles dragging at them like lead. There’s a fog in his head, one that muddles everything around him, and if he’d been thinking clearly, he’d realize how dangerous that could be. But all he can think about is putting one foot in front of the other, fighting through every jab of pain that flared, every urge to just drop, to get one step closer to a goal he can’t even accurately recall.

“Henry?” he hears a small voice call out to him, urgently, “Henry, pal, are you okay?”

He doesn’t know . . .

Maybe he mumbled something, because Bendy pipes up again, this time with a definite touch of apprehension in his voice, “What? H-Henry, I can’t understand ya! Please, I really, _really_ think ya need to call it quits and take a break!”

Henry winces through the dull throbbing that’s started at the base of his skull and tries to respond, because Bendy’s worried again, and he needs to reassure the little toon, he needs to . . . to . . .

A spasm ripples through his chest, and he coughs again. But this one is much more severe, hard, heavy, hacking, enough to make his entire body quake from the force of it. He feels something pulse up his throat, something wet and thick and _viscous_ , and he spits, because it has nowhere else to go. His eyes are watering, and it _hurts_ , and he wipes a hand over his mouth out of habit. But even he isn’t so lost in his malaise that he can’t notice the way the skin of his palm comes away _black_.

A bubbling dread rises in his stomach, and the corridor seems to spin. His mouth moves, but he doesn’t know what comes out, because then he’s tilting sideways, and he lands with a heavy splash against the ground.

“ _HENRY!!_ ”

There’s an ebb and pull he’s vaguely aware of as the ink around him is pulled away, and it’s not long after before large, strong arms are scooping him off the floor and racing to shelter.

The pain that follows his collapse is nothing short of indescribable. Hot flashes race up and down his body, and his sweat feels like magma is pushing its way out of his pores, covering his eyes, washing everything away in darkness. Every time he moves his arms or his legs, it feels like there on the verge of collapsing in on themselves, and even when he tries to scream, all that comes is a harsh, wracking cough that fills his mouth with the poisonous taste of ink.

Every now and again, he’ll become aware of a rumble, always near and always pitched with distress. He’ll reach out with a blind hand in spite of the pain, delirious but knowing that Bendy’s _somewhere_ in the room with him, Bendy who’s worrying and worrying, lost, terrified, thinking he’s gone but he’s _here_ , it’s alright bud, everything’s alright . . .

The pressure he feels against his palm in return reassures Henry that Bendy is fine, and a phantom smiles twitches at his lips before delirium takes him again.

Sometimes he thinks he sees Joey. He’s always far away, always surrounded by shadows, and he tries to talk to the man, tries to demand _why_ , but Joey never replies. He just stares, until he’s stared enough and turns away, vanishing into the dark. But more frightening than that is the whispers he’s certain he hears. They exist in the back of his mind, and they’re soft at first, like feathers against the skin. But soon they grow louder, sharper, harder, until they’re ever-present, ripping him away from his thoughts. Sometimes they sound like Joey, smooth, verbose, lively, and its _him_ but it’s been so _long_ since Henry’d heard him. Other times, they sound like Bendy, but not quite, for there’s too much rage in this one’s voice, too much hatred. But they’re always there, cajoling, needling, promising, so many _promises_ , of how peaceful it would be if he _just let go_ . . .

Its sounds terrifying _wonderful_ horrible _peaceful_ anightmare _adreamdreamscometrueinthisplacedidn’tyouknow_ _. . .?_

But there’s another voice inside too. Another presence, one that’s softer, sweeter. Its speaking sometimes, humming at others. It doesn’t promise anything. It just wants him to get better. It wants him to be alright. It loves him. It loves him so much, and he feels that, and he holds onto it, and it keeps him from _s i n k i n g_.

How long is he there? Minutes? Hours? Time blurs for him, and with no day or night down here, it’s impossible to know.

But then, the fire starts to fade. Slowly, it’s so slowly, but its noticeable. And as the heat abates, the voices loosen their hold, sliding away into whatever darkness spawned them. The pain goes, and while he’s sore, its much more tolerable. And for the first time in what feels like centuries, he’s able to coherently think, _where am I?_

Whatever fever had gripped him was finally gone.

“Be- . . .” he coughs, feeling something sticky was partially clogging his throat. He swallows in an effort to clear it, and tries again, “Bendy?”

Immediately, heavy footfalls rush towards him, and a shadow blots out the dim light over his head. There’s a deep, low growl, and Henry can make out a single dark eye staring at him attentively, worriedly . . .

He gives the demon a small, tired smile, relieved to see that he’s there. His words come out in a croak, and it feels like something’s still partially blocking it, but they’re earnest, “. . . hey bud.”

Seeing lucidity in place of pain, the demon’s visible eye widens . . . and then starts to well.

“ **Henry** . . .” the toon’s voice is deeper here, and gurgles beneath the ink, but it’s filled with so much relief it’s contagious, even as inky tears begin to fall from his eye.

Henry tries to sit up then, feeling weak but not wanting to just lay there, when Bendy’s large hand suddenly comes down and stops him from getting up. It’s not uncomfortable, but the weight is decisive and not something Henry can fight quite yet.

He gives the demon a questioning look, but Bendy just shakes his head. Something else has entered the demon’s eyes, something that’s hard to pin down . . . fear?

“Bendy . . .?” Henry starts trying to rise again, but the hand pushes back firmly. Pursing his lips, the man says, “Bendy, I’m okay now. I just-,”

He’s cut off when Bendy shakes his head again, harder this time and with a growling rumble to accompany it. Something like panic has entered his eyes, and indecision, torn over something Henry can’t figure out. But its making him worry. Was this about his illness . . . or something else?

“Bud, what’s wrong?” he tries to question, searching the demon’s face for an answer.

Bendy looks away, and he almost looks ashamed. But he seems to know he can’t keep Henry there forever, but at the same time, he’s so reluctant to let him up.

Fidgeting now, Henry tries to put a hand on Bendy’s large one, an effort to calm him down and reassure him that he was okay this time . . . then stops when it actually comes into view.

At first, he thinks he’s still hallucinating, because the inhumanely long, ghoulish limb in front of him, one that’s covered in ink, is _oozing_ ink, it couldn’t be _his_ , could it? But when he makes his fingers move, the overlarge ones on the hand twitch in time. When he curls them into a fist, the ones on the hand do the same.

And when at last he comprehends that what he’s seeing is real, complete and utter _horror_ shoots through him. Forgetting the hand keeping him down, Henry tries to sit up again, this time much more forcefully than before, frantic to see if this is the only place affected by the ink.

Bendy keens, knows it’s too late to stop what’s about to happen from happening, but he reluctantly removes his hand and helps Henry up, “ **Don’t panic.** ”

Henry only half hears, eyes immediately roving over the rest of his body. He nearly wretches at what he sees.

His legs look vaguely the same, but they’re shiny black where ordinary skin once was, ink dripping down to the floor nonstop. His other arm isn’t as long, but it’s still unnatural, and it feels like it’s becoming harder to breath as he brings it up and fists it through his hair. He _shivers_ when he feels his fingers run through ink instead, and he wants to believe it’s all another nightmare, another fever-induced hallucination!

But he’s awake, he knows he’s awake. And he can still scarcely believe it, because what _happened_ , what the _hell happened?!_

“Oh my god . . .” is all that comes out, through that blockage that he now realizes can only be more of this vile ink, “W-what the hell _is_ _this?!_ ”

Henry clambers to his feet as panic starts to sink its claws in, unaware of how fast his breaths are coming. His legs wobbling underneath him, and his long arm throws his balance off enough that he nearly crashes to the floor again.

Bendy catches him quickly, steadying him on his feet, but he doesn’t let go immediately. Instead, he moves to stand in front of the man and presses his forehead against his. Its firm enough to force Henry’s eyes up, away from the hideously disfigured mess his body had become, another rumble reverberating deep in the toon’s chest.

“ **We’ll fix it** ,” Bendy promises, sincere despite the sadness in his face.

Henry stares at him, and for once, _he’s_ the one who’s lost, because how do you fix what you didn’t know was broken?

“How?” he hates how it comes out seconds after he says it. It sounds defeatist, and that’s not how either of them have survived for so long. But this went _beyond_ anything either of them have experienced before, too. And there were so many unknowns with this. How far would this baleful transformation go? Would he stay as lucid as he is now, or . . . would he eventually become more like the searchers?

He doesn’t pursue that line of thought. It’s far too terrifying to try. But even as he diverts his mind from it, he’s almost sure he hears a tiny, tiny whisper, _just let go . . ._

“Damn it,” he spits out, a flare of anger, of _frustration_ , rising, “We don’t even know what started this!”

Bendy’s eye is filled with sadness, with sympathy, and Henry immediately feels guilty. His toon friend had been putting up with changes he didn’t fully understand either. It wasn’t fair of him to act like this was only hard on him.

Henry averts his eyes, closes them and tries to breathe and calm down, ignoring the lump in his throat that’s different from the ink taking residence there, “I’m sorry. I just . . . I’m tired of this studio throwing shit at us! Everything was already bad enough before, and now . . .”

He lifts a hand, and when he sees it, he can’t bring himself to say more. This says enough . . .

That’s when a pair of large arms encircle him and pull him tight in an embrace, Bendy resting his chin on top of his head and crooning comfortingly. He freezes for just a second, not expecting it, but it’s only for a second. Then, he relaxes and allows himself to rest against the embrace.

He doesn’t know what they’re going to do. This is . . . insane. Everything about his place is, but he’d thought, he’d _naively_ thought, that he had seen it all. But the dripping of his limbs and the off-kilter way his body tilts to one side is a grisly reminder that that was not the case.

But Bendy’s gentle rumbling gives him something to listen to besides his own turbulent thoughts, and though its small, his smile is sincere when Bendy says softly, but resolutely, “ **I’ll fix it**.”

He nods against Bendy’s chest, and while his throat is a little more tight than he’d like, he’s no less genuine, “Thanks, bud.”

The studio creaks and groans around them, and it seems like a dark promise that the road ahead will be even more difficult than it was before. But if there is a silver lining here, it’s that Henry and Bendy are still together. And he can hold onto that and still believe that there could be some hope of finding a happy ending in this ink-stained madness.

**Author's Note:**

> Swallowin' cursed ink is a bad idea, mkay?
> 
> Also, I play around with the bond idea a little in this too. Because its my opinion that the only way Henry wouldn't completely lose it in the beginning is because of Bendy.
> 
> Hope you all enjoy it!


End file.
